


in your wake

by kaermorons



Series: Geraskier Week 2020 [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Apologies, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:55:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22722796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaermorons/pseuds/kaermorons
Summary: Souls meant to be together are found through soulmarks, inscribing the others' name on their skin. Geralt has hidden his for so long most assume he didn't have one. Jaskier's had always been more of a blemish, illegible and ugly.For Geraskier Week 2020 Day 1: Soulmates.Set after the events of Episode 1x06 but before 1x07.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Geraskier Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1633993
Comments: 7
Kudos: 618





	in your wake

_ A man with no name on his wrist _

_ Cares not who he has kissed _

_ Makes no secret of his cares _

_ For they were never there… _

Jaskier’s songs are usually of the biting, raunchy, and heroic variety, so for Geralt to hear these bitter words fall past the bard’s lips was a bit alarming. He raised his eyes from the table, where he was trying to conceal himself as best as possible, to see the bard surrounded by women and men fawning over the harlequin man. Jaskier did not look Geralt’s way.

_ T’was a bitter sun the day we met _

_ Even when we’d got away fine _

_ They’d bore a knife against his neck _

_ I knew he’d never be mine, never be mine _

_ No-name man, won’t you say _

_ No-name, just scars upon your skin _

_ You only have to look my way _

_ I guess our love just cannot win _

Geralt hadn’t meant to run into Jaskier again. It had been several months since the dragon and the mountain top, several months since Geralt had heard ‘Her Sweet Kiss’ wept by every bard in every tavern in Jaskier’s wake. Geralt didn’t have the words to say how much he regretted sending Jaskier —  _ Julian  _ — away, and he was sure Jaskier wouldn’t have wanted to hear what he had to say anyways.

Perhaps Jaskier couldn’t see him, from here. Geralt tended to stick to the corners, anyway, away from candlelight and revelry. How could they even work, anyway?

Geralt kept his soulmark a secret from everyone he could. His mother had seen the beginnings of it on the back of his neck, creeping out from his hairline, and had insisted he keep his hair grown long. It was a secret now only to Geralt, those that knew had long been dead. Most thought he just didn’t have a soulmark. When he wore his hair off his neck, all that could be seen was a small looping J.

J for Julien.

J for Jaskier.

J for  _ just stop being a fucking idiot and go talk to him, Geralt. _

Jaskier was crooning more sounds than words, now, voice wavering ever so much from its usual strong proclamations. Proclamations that were normally of love that conquered all, of heroism and bravery and of one White Wolf. Geralt looked up again at his soulmate. The dim candlelight made his eyes darker than he remembered them to be, bright as they were when they trekked along together. When they  _ had _ trekked along together. Their shared pasts now seemed something of a dream to him, now. A dream he didn’t deserve to reluctantly enjoy as long as he had. Destiny, he finally admitted, was right some of the time.

They may have not had one another as they could have wholly been, but they’d shared in adventures many on the Continent could only have dreamed of. They saw the edges of the world, the depths of terrible hells, the tops of mountains, and walked every trail they possibly could have. The urge to go to Jaskier was growing larger and larger, now. He steeled himself with his drink and stood on shaky legs. Geralt’s imposing height was incredibly recognizable to the tavern; they’d stopped here less than a year ago to fulfill a contract about a wraith in the local cemetery. Whispers fell around him as he glided toward Jaskier with a grace he didn’t know he had. He felt pulled in on a tow line, dug up from the muddy floor of a lake.

Jaskier’s eyes always looked incredibly blue from close up. Not even the dimness could take that from them. A muscle in his jaw was tensed when Geralt approached, but his eyes conveyed a sharp, intense sadness that hit Geralt like a kick to the gut.

“Geralt.” Jaskier said, the name punched out of him. There was no quippy follow-up, just expectant, guarded eyes. The back of Geralt’s skull burned. He hesitated, thinking of what to say before settling on,

“Julian.” he breathed out, nervousness written in every feature of his scarred face. Jaskier’s face turned to confusion, head tilting to the side and lips,  _ gods, those lips,  _ parting around the beginnings of a question. Pressing his advantage and knowing there wasn’t much time before the bard would ask him to leave him alone, Geralt whispered, “There’s something I need to show you.”

Not want. Not something he’d  _ like _ to show him.  _ Need. _

The wording didn’t get by Jaskier, who only nodded and stood, lute clutched in front of him like a shield over his heart.

Geralt took him to his room at the inn. They were silent the whole way. The room has a fire going with a quick blast of Igni to the hearth, which always impressed Jaskier. He never went cold with Geralt right there. The thought made his heart ache wildly in behind his ribs. Made his lungs burn. The trust was there, yes, along with the tendrils of hurt that wrapped around it. What was a fracture to a heart of broken promises?

“You have a soulmark?” Geralt said, the words sounding unfamiliar in his mouth. It had been decades since he’d said them aloud.

Jaskier gave a nervous, dismissive laugh and looked away. “If you could even call it that.” he said. He turned his back to the witcher and pushed his hair up, baring his neck. And how many times had he done that for Geralt, really? How many times had he risked his feelings, only to be turned down, stabbed for his softness?

There was no sharp, angry thing that Geralt tossed at him carelessly, though. Only hot fingers, joining the ones at Jaskier’s scalp, pushing hair about and around. There was no legible name, only what looked like angry dark carving, scribbling out whatever was beneath.

“What happened to it?” Geralt asked, for the first time doubting that he was doing the right thing in all this.

“It’s always been like this. It’s like Destiny’s hidden them from me.” Jaskier whispered, shivering at Geralt’s touch like he always did. Only this time, there was no injury, no blood to wipe off. Geralt’s fingers were making soft circles at the base of his neck, lost in thought. “I thought you had something to show me?” His voice sounded wrecked, as wrecked as he felt.

Geralt’s hands slipped from his skin, down across his neck and shoulder, before falling away, leaving every part of Jaskier he touched freezing with loss.

“I…” Geralt sighed, and Jaskier finally turned. The Witcher was wearing an expression he’d never seen before. He looked torn, debating between speaking and staying quiet. “On the mountain…”

The freezing cold spread through Jaskier’s veins, and his shivering turned to trembling.

“We don’t need to repeat all that, Geralt. I can hear what you said clear as if you’d just said it.” His voice was small, but strong, insistent in defending himself.

Geralt was shaking his head. This wasn’t how he wanted things to go. “No, I...before that. When we were starting the journey from basecamp. You. You half-introduced yourself to some, some dwarf, and said—”

“My name. Julian Alfred Pankrantz.” Hearing it again was just as earth-shattering as the first time, and Geralt had to close his eyes. Jaskier’s frustration was building. “What did you have to say, Geralt? That you killed someone with my name on accident? More likely, on purpose, knowing—”

“Jaskier.” Geralt silenced him with a pleading look. “I just. People that...are close to me...they die. They die faster than any human should. I know I told you I didn’t want anybody needing me, that there’s nothing else I want less, but…” Geralt was running out of words, running out of time. “Please just.” Geralt scooped Jaskier’s hand in his, gently, always gently, leading it to the back of Geralt’s head.

Jaskier had stopped breathing the moment Geralt had taken his hand.

“Please look.” Geralt begged. Jaskier circled him curiously, eyes locked together until Jaskier was behind him, Geralt was now at  _ his _ mercy, baring  _ his _ soul to Jaskier in turn.

They were quiet for several moments until Jaskier’s fingers softly parted Geralt’s hair, revealing the hidden soulmark beneath. “You have a soulmark!” Jaskier gasped. “I thought—” he cut himself off, as he read closer. “I thought...You... Geralt, it says…”

“It says your name, Jaskier.” Geralt was now shivering just as much as Jaskier, vibrating on the same frequency now. A soft sniffle was followed by those nimble, calloused fingers slipping through Geralt’s hair. Geralt turned, finding Jaskier with his shoulders hitched up by his ears, covering his face to try and hold back the tears.

“Why?” Jaskier sobbed.

“I knew I couldn’t send you away without.” Geralt swallowed past the lump in his throat, but Jaskier continued for him, taking his hands away to reveal his blotchy, wet face.

“Without breaking my heart?” He accused, voice breaking on every syllable. Geralt ached, a man at sea.

“It was the only way I was sure you’d be safe from...from whatever Destiny was trying to throw my way.” he tried explaining.

“But, but  _ I’m _ supposed to be your destiny.” Jaskier bit down on his lip, hardly understanding through the pain of this realization.

“I know, I know…” Geralt murmured, like he was trying to soothe a horse. “And I’m… I’m so sorry Jaskier. You didn’t deserve any of that.” he confessed.

“No.” Jaskier agreed.

“And I...I know it’s too much to ask forgiveness through all of this, but you. I had to tell you.”

“Why’s your name crossed out on me, then?” Jaskier asks, taking a shaky breath. “How come I never knew?”

“The same reason I never had Jaskier on my skin. The name I was given, I threw away, carved out of me, long ago.” Geralt explained, hands twitching at his sides. “Not a soul on this earth knows it now. I’m sorry I never told you.”

“I never asked. And I suppose, neither did you.” Jaskier laughed a bit, still sad. “This could have been ironed out so, so long ago.” he shook his head. “What are you going to do now? You already told me you can’t take me with you now that you know.”

Geralt shook his head, and gently, so slowly that Jaskier could brush him off if he wanted, rested his hands on both of the bard’s shoulders. “Seeing you in the tavern quelled the fear I had on the mountain and gave me a new one. The safest place for you isn’t as far away from me as you could get. It’s by my side.”


End file.
